The second envelope, dated November 2008, felt thin between my fingers. Barely a few months since the first. Did I really want to unravel this? Reopen a wound I’d spent years cauterizing?
But the attic, with its dust-mote sunbeams and the ghostly scent of old paper, held me captive. I was already too deep.
I unfolded the letter. The paper rustled, a whisper against the silence. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rhythm in my ears.
Dear Daniel,
I saw you with Sarah today. Chemistry. You laughed, your eyes crinkling at the corners in a way I’ve never seen them do for me. A light I don’t know.
I know I should be happy. You’re my best friend. That’s what friends do, right? And I am. Mostly. But a tiny, selfish part of me—a dark, insistent whisper—wishes it was me who made you laugh like that. Me you looked at as if the world narrowed to just us.
Why am I writing this? It’s easier to confess to paper than to your face. I’ll never send this. I can’t risk losing the sliver of you I have.
Yours, always,
Elena
I closed my eyes, the memory a sudden, sharp gust of wind.
(Flashback)
A crisp autumn afternoon. The quad, scattered with fallen leaves. Daniel and Sarah on a bench beneath the old oak, their heads bent close. Her laughter, light and melodic, drifted across the space. His stupid, lopsided grin, the one that always twisted something inside me, like a knot tightening.
Ridiculous. I was being ridiculous. He was my best friend. That had to be enough. But each time I saw them together, it was like a slow, deliberate twist of a blade.
“Lena!” His voice, warm and familiar, startled me. He jogged towards me, cheeks flushed from the chill. “What are you doing out here? It’s freezing.”
I forced a smile, the muscles in my face stiff. “Studying. And you?”
He shrugged, settling beside me. “Sarah and I were going over chem notes. She’s… really sharp.”
The way he said her name. A reverence, a soft awe. I wanted to scream, to shake him until he saw me, really saw me.
Instead, I nodded. “That’s great, Dan. I’m happy for you.”
And I was. Mostly.
I set the letter down, my hands trembling. A fool. I’d clung to the idea of noble silence, of selfless friendship. Now, in the dust-laden air of the attic, it felt like a lie.
My phone buzzed, a sharp, intrusive sound. Daniel.
Hey, you free for coffee later? Need to vent about work.
My stomach tightened. How many times had I been this? His confidante, his sounding board, his safe harbor? How many times had I wished for something more?
Sure. Usual place at 4? I texted back.
You’re the best. See you then. His reply, immediate.
I shoved the phone aside, reaching for the next letter, dated March 2009. My hands were steadier now, but the ache in my chest remained.
Dear Daniel,
You asked me today about taking Sarah to prom. I wanted to scream no, to beg you to take me. Instead, I smiled and said, “Go for it. She’d be lucky.”
Now I’m here, writing this, instead of screaming into the void. Why do I do this? Pretend? Is it fear of losing you? Or fear of what would happen if you said yes?
I’ll never send this. I can't. I can only deceive myself right now, that you might feel even a little for me. This is my confession.
Yours, always,
Elena
I folded the letter, the paper thin and fragile in my hands. Memories, sharp and swift, flooded my mind. Prom. Graduation. The wedding.
I glanced at the clock. An hour until coffee. Time for one more.
My hand hovered over the next envelope, my heart a frantic drumbeat.
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